Influenza
by SilkYuzu
Summary: Though he was coughing heavily, it was probably just a cold. At least that’s what Edward kept telling himself... The story of the Masen family's battle with the Spanish Influenza in 1918, and the birth of a vampire with nothing to loose.


Though he had tried to hide the telltale symptoms from his parents as best he could, a particularly loud hacking cough that escaped his throat caught their attention. Edward's throat burned and felt constricted, making it hard to breathe. His entire body ached, but for no real reason. It was probably just a cold, and nothing worth bothering his parents with.

At least that's what Edward kept telling himself.

He remembered how the young man that lived just a house down had felt the same way only three days before, and then died suddenly – and violently. This wasn't the first death of its kind by any means though; hundreds upon thousands of people all over the country had died since March, when the sickness was first discovered, and the death toll only rose with each passing day.

The sickness that was waging war against the human species was quick and erratic. It didn't follow the patterns that normal sicknesses did, and threw off the doctors trying to create a cure or medicine. The sickness didn't prey on the young or the old like most infections did, but instead selected and took out the young adults with seemingly healthy immune systems.

Edward kept his gaze trained on the floor and didn't dare make eye contact with his parents, because he didn't want to see the expression on their faces. He knew that both of them were staring at him though with extreme worry and alarm.

"Edward," His mother began, fearing the worst "are you feeling alright?" She herself had been hiding the symptoms of an illness, but she had brushed it off. It couldn't be the sickness that was purging the land of all life. It couldn't happen to her family, not to her. Her son looked sick though…

Edward nodded vigorously in an attempt to convince his mother of his wellbeing and smiled, "I'm fine mother, I just felt a tickle in the back of my throat. Really, I assure that it's nothing."

His father didn't seem convinced by his explanation, "Are you sure?" He crossed his arms across his chest and stared at him intently, "Edward if you're sick…" It was obvious that he was worried.

"I'm not sick father." Edward snapped his gaze to meet his fathers and held it firmly, "I'm not - " He was suddenly cut off by a rough bought of coughs and a loud wheeze as he tried to inhale, "…s-sick." Once again his gaze fell, after that outburst, there was no way that they'd believe him. Edward had tried to deny it for as long as he could – he was infected.

"Oh Edward!" His mother, Elizabeth Masen, flung her arms around his neck and kissed her only son's temple tenderly in an attempt to comfort him. Her eyes threatened to tear up, but she held on a brave face for the sake of her 16 year old child. She couldn't break down in front of him. Edward, her son, was too young to be dealing with this. He had so much ahead of him! Her son had yet to marry and start a family of his own, Edward was still so young and hadn't had his fair share of the world yet! How could God be so cruel as to condemn him like this?

His father sighed and looked downcast, the grim reality of what was happening in his family settling on his shoulders, "Elizabeth, Edward… I think…" He paused for a long moment as if he was trying to find some other possible solution, and shook his head in defeat. He didn't want to say it, because once he did, he would have accepted it as fact. But all the signs were there… His wife, son, and even he himself had been experiencing a terrible cough for the past several hours, and all had slight difficulty breathing. They had all felt fine in the morning, but now it was about supper time, and they all knew that something was wrong. There was only one possible cause for the sudden and fast acting sickness. "Pack a small bag of your things." He said suddenly, "We're leaving."

"Father?" Edward asked, suddenly alarmed. Whatever his father was planning couldn't be good.

"We're checking into the hospital. Better safe than sorry. Maybe we've all just caught a simple cold that they can treat." His father replied while grabbing his hat off the rack and putting it on his head. Edward Masen Sr. knew that it was hopeless no matter where they went. The Spanish Influenza never left anyone alive after it got inside of you. Still, he didn't want to worry his family, though by the ashen looks on their faces he was sure that they already knew. Slipping on his coat, Edward Masen Sr. tried to disguise a fit of coughs to no avail.

* * *

Once admitted to the hospital, the Red Cross nurse barely examined them for a minute before diagnosing them with the terrible Spanish Influenza that had been ravaging the country ever since it had been discovered in March. Earlier on in the year, the Nurse was sympathetic towards patients, but over the few months that had passed and all of the patients that had been diagnosed with the same illness, she found it easier to block out her emotions. She led them to a special ward in the hospital, and left before they could thank her. It was easier this way, the Nurse told herself – she couldn't let herself become attached.

Edward was about to sigh, when a violent fit of coughs caught him off guard. His mother looked at him worriedly, but he brushed it off. "I'm all right mother." Not wanting to delay, he moved to the bed that had been assigned to him and put his small pack down at its side. Other patients in the room viewed him with mild interest – they themselves and the new boy would both be dead soon.

The 16 year old looked around the room at the other people, taking in their vacant faces and symptoms. Coughing was always heard, so the ward was never quiet. There was always someone groaning or crying out in some sort of incurable agony. Edward swallowed hard, and his throat hurt more for it.

The man in the bed directly next to him had a faint blue tint to his facial features, and wheezed terribly whenever he tried to breathe. In his hand was a white handkerchief that was spattered in blood that he had probably coughed up.

Edward didn't have to be a doctor to know that the man wouldn't be beside him for much longer.

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward saw a body being wrapped up in a white sheet and then removed from the room. Looking at the opposite end of the ward, he saw yet another family just being admitted inside of the ward. It seemed that there was a steady flow of things here. For every one person that died, two more who were infected would take his place. The new patients would also die, and the cycle would continue without an end in sight.

It was late, and though Edward was afraid, his body commanded that he sleep. Laying down on the cot provided, he laid his head back on the pillow. As he rolled over and became comfortable, he could hear his father and mother coughing only a few feet away.

Edward closed his eyes, and forced himself to sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, the man sleeping next to him was gone.

His cot was empty, and a Nurse must have put clean sheets and blankets on it because no sign of the man remained. Dully, Edward realized that the man must have died last night while he was asleep.

Slowly, he sat up in his cot and looked around. Across the room he saw the family that had been admitted only moments after his own. There was a wife and a child, and they were weeping at the foot of a cot. Laying atop it, was a man. A dead man. Blood splattered on his chin and clothes, his face tinged blue, the Spanish Influenza had finished with him in one night.

Suddenly worried, Edward look to his other side where his own parents were. He was relieved, both were sleeping in their cots. His father looked worse though, and wheezed with each and every breath that he took. He was looking pale, and Edward felt his heartbeat quicken. This couldn't be happening!

His throat lurched, and Edward began coughing again, this time harder than ever. He covered his mouth with his hand, only to be shocked when he pulled it away. Small droplets of blood hung to his finger tips, and he could taste its coppery flavor in his mouth.

A Nurse had seen this and brought him a glass of water, "Here you are deary."

"Thank you ma'am." Edward muttered before taking a sip. He didn't want the water, but it felt cool and nice against his throat. After he had finished it, he handed back the now empty glass to her. His head pounded, and he wheezed lightly for air.

"You need to lay back and rest," The Nurse told him firmly, "don't exert yourself too much."

"Yes ma'am."

With that the Nurse left to fulfill her duties.

Edward sighed and buried his face in his hands. The 16 year old couldn't believe that things were going to end this way, especially with his 17th birthday being only two days away. Peeking back over at his parents, he could only imagine how badly they were taking this. Probably worse than him. With firm resolve, Edward decided that he'd have to act as hopeful as he could for the both of them. "I'm going to get better." He muttered to himself, testing the phrase out. It didn't sound very believable.

Another fit of coughs held him, and Edward took the Nurse's advice to heart. He laid back on the cot and allowed sleep to reclaim him as it would forever once this sickness had its way with him.

* * *

The 16 year old woke up in the middle of the night, around 11 pm, when he heard footsteps nearby his cot. Secretly, Edward was happy to be awake, because he had been having vivid nightmares of odd creatures and places. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to see out into the darkness.

In the dull light of a lamp, he could see the form of a man besides a cot across the room. He was talking softly to the patient and administering some painkillers – something that Edward had learned to mean death was in a few hours for that particular patient.

The Doctor was pale and lean from what Edward could make out, his blonde hair shining a little in the light.

Edward sat up a little to get a better look, when a cough broke loose from his throat.

The Doctor turned around and faced him, "Oh? Are you awake?" He walked over to Edward's cot and sat down in the bedside chair, "Can I get you anything? Water?"

Edward shook his head lamely, "No thank you sir." He coughed again, quieter this time, "Why aren't you wearing one of those face masks like the Nurses?" He asked now that he was able to see the doctor's face. The Nurses all wore them to help protect against infection, but this man didn't have one.

"I won't get sick." The doctor explained with a small smile.

"Hmm, well you're lucky." Edward smiled back and laid down once again. "Mind telling me your secret?"

The doctor smiled again but shook his head, "My name is Dr. Cullen, but you may call me Carlisle."

"E-edward - " He coughed, "Masen."

* * *

Even though Edward knew it was inevitable, he was still in shock when he heard the news of his father's death the following morning, June 18th 1918.

His father had hemorrhaged in his lungs, and had drowned.

Edward watched with wide eyes as the staff of the hospital (which was steady getting smaller as some employees became infected and others quit to avoid the sickness) wrapped up the body and quickly took it out of the room to hide it from view and dispose of it.

Everything happening was surreal now.

Edward licked his lips, they were scaly and chapped due to his dehydration. His throat was paining him more than ever, and with each cough more blood came out of his mouth. Now he too carried a small handkerchief like the man he saw on the first day so that he could sop up the red substance.

While he was slowly withering away, after the death of her husband, Elizabeth Masen had almost given up. She was on her deathbed now; wheezing and hacking. Though she was in pain, she wouldn't admit it.

Ignoring the protests of Nurses and his mother, Edward pulled up a chair and sat beside his mother, refusing to leave. He couldn't leave her, because he was afraid that the moment he did, he would loose her. The 16 year old felt much smaller and younger than he ever had before. His father had hemorrhaged, and his mother had viral pneumonia caused by the Spanish Influenza.

He had been 'lucky' as the Nurses said, and had bacterial pneumonia. It worked slower than its viral counterpart, so Edward knew that he would outlive his mother. This also meant that he'd have to witness her die though, and the thought pained him more than any other sickness.

"Mother?" Edward finally spoke up as the sun was setting. He hadn't spoken all day because he was too weak and exhausted.

Elizabeth rolled her head to the side and looked up at her son with glazed eyes. She couldn't speak.

Edward squeezed her hand tightly like she was going to be torn away from him, "…I love you."

His mother only smiled, and though her lips were chapped and her complexion blue, Edward knew that no mother had ever looked as beautiful.

Another hour passed, and Elizabeth watched as her son tried to stay awake with her. His head finally nodded down though, and his shoulders relaxed. Edward had fallen asleep in a sitting position, and he wheezed quietly with each breath.

Elizabeth mustered all of her strength and sighed, "My dear boy." She smiled at his sick figure adoringly, "My dear boy, you still had so much to live for." Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, "So much to do, so much to see…! You were to marry and start your own family Edward, and I'm sorry that you'll never have the chance. Truly… having you as a son completed me… and I'm sorry that you'll never - " She coughed, blood splattering on her lips, " …h-have that."

She cried silently into the night, and didn't noticed that Dr. Cullen had entered to room until he was by her side. "Mrs. Masen."

Elizabeth looked over at him in surprise. Her eyes were glazed over and her breath was slowing down steadily. "Dr. C-cullen… I didn't notice you." She sighed, "I'm sorry you had to hear that. It's just… He doesn't deserve this."

"I assure you," Dr. Cullen reassured, "we are doing the best we can to return him to health."

Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment. "Are you? Are you really doing everything that you possibly can for my son?"

The doctor actually looked caught off guard and took a moment to respond, "…Yes." He no longer held the dying woman's gaze with his golden eyes.

Elizabeth scoffed, but it came out sounding more like a wheeze than anything else.

"I've brought you some pain killers." Dr. Cullen said finally. He injected her in the arm with a small needle, and Elizabeth could almost immediately feel the numbness starting to spread.

"Thank you, but they'll do nothing for me." Elizabeth coughed, "Please, if you can do anything to save my boy, please, do it. Please," she was begging now, in a weak voice, "Please, promise me you'll do it."

"I…"

"_Promise_ _me_!" She demanded, she choked for air and wheezed more – she couldn't breathe!

"I…!"

She was suffering, and Carlisle could hear her heart beating irregularly and frantically. It would only be a few short moments before she passed on forever. Her eyes stared up at him – begging. "…I promise that I will do everything in my power to save you son Edward Masen." He whispered finally.

Elizabeth smiled weakly and relaxed her body, she was gasping for breath now though having little luck. "Th-than…" Suddenly her back went rigid, her eyes widened and she gasped for air. Her lungs and throat were so blocked, nothing was getting through, Elizabeth's eyes teared up, and she fell back on the bed.

Carlisle could only watch in silent horror as the woman died. After what seemed like years, she became still and her eyes dulled into sightless orbs. He sighed and buried his face in his cold hands. Peeking to the other side of the bed, he saw the sleeping form of Edward who was completely unaware of the conversation that had just taken place. The ancient vampire sighed, just what had he gotten himself into?

* * *

With dull eyes, Edward watched as Dr. Cullen made his rounds in the ward. He would go to each patient, talk with them for a short moment and maybe administer a drug to ease their suffering. He was always very kind to each of them.

It was strange though, that he only came at night. Dr. Cullen seemed to be the only staff that showed up this late, and never was there for morning checkups and diagnosis.

Edward had been still in his cot all day, refusing to eat, refusing medications, and refusing to talk even. His mother had died while he was asleep. He hadn't been there for her. It was ironic really, that the thing he feared the most – not being by her side while she died – was realized only because Edward stayed up late in that chair beside her bed. Had he resting in his own cot… he would have had the strength to be there with her.

So he had sat pensively and watched the staff bustle about and the patients cough and writhe in their own cots. It was more like an out of body experience, and Edward found his mind blank for most of the day. The sickness must be driving him mad.

A rustle at his side caught his attention, followed by the sound of someone sitting down on his bedside chair. It was Dr. Cullen.

"You shouldn't be awake so late, you should be resting." The blonde haired doctor said quietly.

Edward didn't even look at him and turned his head to face the other direction, he wanted to be alone.

A light weight on his stomach alerted him to the fact that Dr. Cullen had put something there.

"Edward, please eat." Carlisle prodded, gesturing to the small tray of food on the teenager's lap. There was a roll with some jam and butter alongside a few apple slices. It wasn't much, but even so the boy wasn't eating any of it. "I know its hard, but you need to keep your strength up."

Edward glared at him from his propped up sitting position on his cot. "No."

Carlisle sighed, "Why?"

"I'm not in the mood." Indeed he wasn't, his mother died early in the morning, at approximately 4 am. Now it was 11:45 pm at night on June 19th. His birthday was tomorrow, a voice in the back of his head told him absent mindedly. Not that it mattered. He'd be dead by then. Edward had all but given up on living.

"The Nurses told me that you refused to take the pain killers and other medicines today." Carlisle said changing the subject. "You can't expect to get better without them." It showed that Edward hadn't taken any medication. He looked horrible. Edward was covered in light sweat and his skin was pale while his cheeks were flushed red. Carlisle could only assume that he was burning up with fever, and could hear each painful wheeze that Edward made. He was in bad shape, and at this rate… it wouldn't be long.

"I don't _expect_ to get better at all!" Edward snapped, fisting the sterile white sheets tightly. "Do you think I'm just some small child?! I know what this damn disease does, I know that I'm dying!" He panted after the outburst and struggled to get enough oxygen into his lungs.

"Sh… that's it, clam down." Carlisle tried to soothe as best he could. The boy was suffering greatly, and most of it seemed to be emotional. How could he not be going through agony though? Both of his parents had died of the same disease he was infected with. Carlisle reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid. "I have some pain killers here for you, they'll ease what you must be feeling right now…" He reached out to Edward's arm, but the youth yanked himself away.

"N-no." He wheezed, "No drugs."

"Why not?"

"I want… to f-feel everything." He coughed, "I'm going to d-die, and I don't want to miss more than I h-have too."

"But you're talking about pain here, not some event."

Edward looked Carlisle right in the eyes with a look he would never forget, "Pain means you're alive."

In the back of his head, Carlisle heard the promise he made to Elizabeth ringing. He could help him… "Edward." He said finally after a long pause, "I can… I can save you from missing out on things."

The 16 year old was confused, "H-how?" he croaked, voice faint. He was struggling to breathe.

"I…" Carlise was about to say more, when Edward cried out.

"A-aggh!" He choked, trying to inhale. There was something blocking the way! He couldn't breathe!

The boy was dying. If he was going to do this, it would have to be now. Carlisle quickly bent over the boy and sank his teeth into the soft quivering skin of his neck. Carlisle would keep his promise.

* * *

After some quick thinking, Carlisle devised away to get Edward out of the hospital ward without raising suspicion. He needed a way to keep Edward hidden, for the boy was writhing in pain – the pain of being turned into an immortal vampire.

Coffins were plentiful these days, so it wasn't hard to find one.

Using his extreme strength, Carlisle lifted the coffin onto the back of his truck. The back wasn't covered, so the coffin was out and bared to the world. This was good because no one would question where he was going, and few would stray close in light of infection. Securing the black coffin with some straps, Carlisle paused and spoke to the agonized boy inside. "Edward, Edward listen to me. You can't make too much noise or move. I know it's hard, but we can't attract attention."

A moan of pain was his response, but it was quickly muffled, showing that Edward had indeed heard him.

Carlisle got into the driver's seat of the truck and turned on the engine, and as he drove off out of Chicago, the sun was rising. The vampire made sure that his thick trench cloak covered his skin. The suddenly, even over the rumble of the engine, Carlisle could hear Edward singing to himself in an attempt to block out the pain.

"Obey the laws, and wear the gauze. Protect your jaws, from septic flaws." Edward was desperately singing to himself. Gods it hurt. Gods. It. _Hurt_. The fire from Dr. Cullen's – Carlisle's – bite had spread throughout his entire body and threatened to burn him into nothingness. He tried to block himself from the pain.

Carlisle smiled grimly, and kept his head low as they drove through the crowded streets towards the outskirts of town. People would glance at the truck and at its morbid cargo.

Edward tossed and turned inside the coffin, writhing in pain as Carlisle drove him to his new life, "I had a little bird, its name was Enza." He sung more desperately now, his eyes snapped open, now the color of coal, "I opened the window, and _in-flew-Enza_!"

* * *

**Whooo! This is my longest Twilight oneshot as of yet, and I'm so happy with it! I was re-reading the series the other day, and I wanted to create the scene of Edward's turning. I wanted to include a bit more though, so I ended up writing this thing. **

**Here are some side notes:**

**1.) _I had a littel bird,_**

**_Its name was Enza,_**

**_I opened the window,_**

**_And in-flew-Enza_**

**and**

**_Obey the laws,_**

**_And wear the gauze._**

**_Protect your jaws,_**

**_From septic flaws._**

**These were both popular poems that were dedicated to the Spanish Influenza, and were very popular during the time. I thought it was only fitting that I have Edward reference them.**

**2.) There were three main ways to die from the Spanish Influenza:Uncontrollable hemorrhaging that filled the lungs with blood (so the patient would drown), Viral Pnemonia which killed very quickly, and Bacterial Pnemonia which was slowler than its viral cousin. Many people infected by the Spanish influenza _died the next day_ after being infected. Another common symptom was a blue tinge to the face which went along with the pnemonia which made it difficult to breathe.**

* * *


End file.
